Saving Rain(116)

I also wasn’t sure about that new feeling building and swelling and warming the region of my lower belly at the sight of his smile.

“Yeah, no problem,” he replied. “Have a good day, all right?”



And that was it. That was the first time I’d truly met Soldier Mason, the first time he’d brightened my day and made me question my emotions.

And he’d had no idea.

Now, I sat in a chair in the hospital waiting room, wearing a clean pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt Patrick Kinney’s wife, Kinsey, had dropped off for me at the emergency room. My son was beside me, his heavy head pressed against my shoulder once he finally—somehow—found sleep after living through the nightmarish ordeal at 1111 Daffodil Lane.

On the other side of me was Harry, who had come as soon as I texted—and how I’d managed to string together coherent words—“Soldier’s been shot and it doesn’t look good”—I couldn’t tell you. I guessed I’d just done what I’d always done before—whatever had to be done.

Then, there was Patrick, sitting on the other side of Noah. Neither man spoke while Noah slept, and so I was left to think about that time—the first time I’d truly made Soldier Mason’s acquaintance. And I wondered how I’d be able to go on living without ever getting the chance to tell him about it.

What if I never got to tell him I had actually written to him? Two times, I had written letters to him during his time in prison, only to think twice and throw them out, feeling stupid for entertaining the thought that he’d even want to hear from me.

God, why hadn’t I told him already?

What if I never had the chance to admit that from the moment he had saved me that first time in The Pit, I would pray to him, the way one might pray to their god? I would pray for him to come back, to make things right again. To prove once again that some men were good and decent and deserving of good and decent things themselves.

What if I never ever got the chance to tell him I’d loved him long before I spoke the words out loud? What if I never got the chance to say those words again?

God, I hated my brain right now. I hated that I couldn’t stop the train of my thoughts, that I had no control over the panic and worry that surrounded the string his life held on to.

My eyes squeezed shut, and my heart jolted violently as I remembered those last moments before the police had arrived …



POP!

The first gunshot rang through the house, snapping violently against my eardrums.

My gasp was loud—too loud—and I clapped a hand over my mouth, allowing myself a wail of terror behind my palm.

The cat jumped from off the bed and scurried underneath, cowering and staring at me through his glowing yellow eyes. Looking at me for comfort, but he wouldn’t find any from me.

“W-what was that?” I whispered to Eleven, my voice shrill, but of course, the question went unanswered.

My heart rattled against its cage and reverberated through my bones. I wanted to jump up and run. I wanted to leave the room and make sure Soldier was okay.

All I could think was, Soldier, Soldier, Soldier, his name on an endless, frenzied loop.

But he had ordered me to stay here, to keep quiet and remain hidden, while he went out to confront the angry, awful, hateful man I had once—so, so, so many years ago—desired.

Before the years of abuse, apologies, and assault.

Before the fear of what would happen to me and my son if I dared to go to the police.

But now, the man I loved more than I had ever loved myself was out there. Fighting that evil man. Looking down the barrel of Seth's gun. Being braver than I'd ever been in my entire life.

All to save me after he'd already saved my son.

“What …” I gasped, searching for air as my hands shook around the gun. “W-what if he's dead?”

God, God, oh God … I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I couldn't face a world without Soldier. Not anymore. Not again. What would I do? How would I go on?

Jesus, how would I live, knowing he'd sacrificed himself for the sake of my survival?

How could anybody love me so much?

POP!

I jolted backward, wedging deeper into the corner of the room.

My eyes stared toward the door, my mind and body reaching a whole new level of fear I'd never touched before.

Soldier. Oh God, Soldier.

Then, I was on my feet, and I was running. I knew he had said not to unlock the door. I knew he had said not to leave. But, oh my God, I couldn't let him do this alone.

I couldn't let him die alone.

God, God, God, please don't let him die.

My fingers flicked the lock, and I bolted out the door, running down the hallway, gun held tight within my hands.

An animalistic sound erupted from my body at the sight of Seth in the living room, hovering over Soldier’s crumpled frame.

He looked up in time as I raised the gun, aiming it right at his cold, soulless gaze, pinned right on me.

And then, without a second thought …

I fired.



It was then that I’d witnessed the death of two men, just moments before the police and paramedics arrived.

The man I loved and the man who had taken him from me.

I clutched Soldier’s hand as he slipped away. I told him I loved him so many times, but not nearly enough, and I stared into his eyes and begged a god I wasn’t sure was listening anymore to bring him back to me, to not take him away, to just make him better and not allow him to leave.